Happy
by Jingle For Goldfish
Summary: The curse is broken, but the adventure is far from over. Ella has a new family to get to know, and with it, new trials to overcome. How will she adapt to life with the royal family?
1. The End

_Hi, sports fans! I made this for you!_

_I've wanted to try this kind of story for some time, and I have plenty of "Ella" ideas rolling around in my head, many of them to do with Char and his family. Hopefully this serves as an outlet for some of them._

_I'm sure the "what happens next" story has been done a zillion times. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy my take on the future. If you have ideas, I'd love to hear them! Just leave a comment. :)_

_(Side note: after titling and re-titling this story about fifty times, I have determined that the word "happy" is one of those words that start to sound very strange after you've said them too many times.)_

_(Side side note: the formatting of this was bugging me, so I changed it. The first few paragraphs of the story—i.e. the part you recognize—are directly quoted from the end of the book and belong exclusively to GCL the Great and Powerful.)_

* * *

Happy

I had been able to break the curse myself. I'd had to have reason enough, love enough to do it, to find the will and the strength. My safety from the ogres hadn't been enough; zhulpH's rescue hadn't been enough, especially not with guards about; my slavery to Mum Olga hadn't been enough. Kyrria was enough. Char was enough.

Now it was over. Ended forever. I was made anew. Ella. Just Ella. Not Ella, the slave. Not a scullery maid. Not Lela. Not Eleanor. Ella. Myself unto myself. One. Me.

I tore off the rag that covered my hair. Then I curtsied to Char.

"When you asked for my hand a few minutes ago, I was still too young to marry." I looked up at him and saw a smile start. "I'm older now, so much older that not only can I marry, but I can beg you to marry me." I knelt and took his hand.

He didn't let me kneel before him. He pulled me up and kissed me again. I took that to signify his consent.

Behind me, Dame Olga was whispering something sharp and frantic to one of her servants. Char frowned over my shoulder, looking at Dame Olga as though seeing her for the first time. "You run this household, Madam?"

Dame Olga swept an improbably graceful curtsy. "I do, Your Highness. I am Dame Olg—"

"I know who you are." Char's countenance was dark, and I realized I had never seen him angry before. "Are you responsible for the way this lass has been treated in her own home?"

I remembered his story about the languages tutor who had abused his sister. I wondered whether Dame Olga was about to receive the same fiery retribution.

Dame Olga hesitated. "Your Highness will forgive me, but this is not the lass's home."

"You are her father's wife, are you not?"

Her face flashed with something like fury, which melted quickly into a sort of twisted heartsickness. "My darling Sir Peter," she crooned. "Of course. But you see, my husband, beloved and immaculate as he is, has played a most cruel trick on me. As a suitor, he charmed me, but once our wedding bells chimed, Highness, he revealed his bereavement to me. Not a penny to his name, and I, the hapless maiden who had fallen victim to his wiles.

"Suddenly, my household funds had to stretch to accommodate two more members, and what does my beloved do? He _leaves_ me—on business, of course, but can a housewife help but imagine the lovely young girls a man may meet on his travels? Oh, I know Sir P would never betray me." She wrung her hands as though wounded. Then she cast me a look of utter loathing. "But to thrust upon me this child of his, this ungrateful wench who takes greedily and offers nothing in return, who wastes no opportunity to humiliate my precious daughters and who is better suited to the life of a street hawker than a dignified young lady . . . well, Highness, I implore your forgiveness, but what could piteous I do in such a position? I ought to have turned her out straightaway, but out of the goodness of my heart, I allowed her a position here in my household."

I was fascinated by the spin Dame Olga had managed to put on the story. It sounded almost plausible. But Char was not swayed. "This _ungrateful wench_ is your future queen," he said in a dangerous voice. "I advise you to bear that in mind."

Dame Olga swept another curtsy. "Yes, of course, Highness. A thousand apologies, Highness."

Char turned to me. "What would you like done with these women?"

Hattie made a noise like a cornered mouse, and I raised my eyebrows. "I?"

"They have dishonored you in an unforgiveable manner," said Char. "Anything you ask shall be done."

I studied my deplorable step-family. Dame Olga was watching me with wide, frightened eyes, and Hattie was clutching her mouth in abject terror. Olive looked gently puzzled.

"I don't know," I said finally. "Anything too terrible would upset my father. I think I'd like to hear his opinion."

This earned me an eye-roll from Mandy and an uncertain look from Char. "There is nothing you desire from them?"

"Only my things back," I said. "And I'd like to return to my mother's house. With Mandy and the rest of my household."

"Of course, dearest, of course," Dame Olga gushed. "It's all yours, rightfully, of course. You must take anything you like. You must think of me as your mother, I've always said, call me Mum Olga, you remember, don't you, sweetest?"

It was remarkable how she molded to the situation. Her demeanor changed with the flexibility of a chameleon. I wondered how far Dame Olga had gotten in her life through sheer manipulation, and I considered for the first time that she might not be such a terrible match for Father, after all.

Char looked about to interject, but I held out a hand and said, "Hattie, I'd like my necklace back, please."

Hattie was pale in the face and fairly trembling where she stood, clearly afraid her head was about to be removed from her shoulders. Despite the situation, she mustered the most spiteful glare she had ever directed at me.

Dame Olga nudged her. "Come, Hattie," she said. "Give your sister what she wants."

With jerking fingers, Hattie removed the necklace as slowly as if it weighed a hundred pounds. She handed it out, and I resisted the urge to command, _Put it around my neck._ I took it graciously.

"Sir Stephen," said Char. "Help Lady Ella gather her things. We will be transporting her back to her home."

I was surprised. "Right now?"

"Why not? I have three carriages outside, all practically empty. We can transport your staff and your belongings all at once. Besides," he added, and the sharp glint came back into his eye, "I confess I can't stand the thought of leaving you in this wretched house any longer than strictly necessary."

"I don't want to burden your men."

Sir Stephen spoke up. "Milady, I would feel most comfortable if you were to return to your mother's home as quickly as possible. The thought of you in this miserable place would be more burden on us than one brief journey." The other men with him nodded fervently.

I smiled. They were all as kind as Char. The thought that I might see Sir Stephen any day I liked was indescribably cheering.

Mandy stepped forward. "Come, Lady," she said. "We'll start with your mother's wardrobe."

Hattie, Olive, and Dame Olga stood by as my staff made their rounds through the house. Mother's things had been scattered everywhere, but Nancy and the others were surprisingly efficient in unearthing jewels, trinkets, and furnishings. They retrieved things I hadn't even realized were mine. Then again, who better than the servants to remember what had been dusted and polished every day in their old home? Mandy and I cleaned out the kitchen quickly enough, after all, relieving it of every last insignificant earthen nut bowl we'd come to know and cherish.

On one pass upstairs, Bertha recovered a beautiful pendant—a garnet stone, so pure it appeared liquid, hung on a heavy gold chain. I had seen it frequently around Dame Olga's neck. I didn't know it belonged to Mother, but Bertha walked it straight up to me, holding it chin-high like a trophy, and the vindictive look she shot at Dame Olga erased any doubt from my mind.

Bertha placed the pendant in my hands. "It was a wedding gift," she said. "From Lady Eleanor's father. Meant the world to her after he died."

Dame Olga seethed as the treasure passed hands, but she was powerless to stop it. I was almost sorry for taking so much pleasure from her helplessness, but I couldn't help feeling triumphant. There would be time later for pity.

Mandy insisted on bathing me and dressing me in a proper gown. When we returned downstairs, I stepped into the presence of my step-family, cinder-free for the first time in months. I felt as tall as a mountain. I could leave them. I could do anything I liked.

Char caught my hands, and he finally grinned, the silly expression of a boy. "Your carriage awaits, my lady."

I could go with him. I stood on my toes and kissed him, and then I led him over Dame Olga's hateful doorstep for the last time, feeling happy enough to sing and free enough to fly.

* * *

The manor was a welcome sight, even in its unnaturally still and silent state. I had half-imagined coming back to a dilapidated pile of stone, but it stood tall and proud as it ever had, nestled into the trees at the end of a short, curving driveway.

The servants piled out of their carriages, and my things were quickly unloaded. Char hung by the carriage, uncertain of the appropriate action. "I'm afraid I oughtn't stay," he said. "My parents will think I've come to harm."

"Until tomorrow, then," I said.

He smiled, but it faltered. "Are you sure you'll be all right here alone?"

"I'm not alone. I have Mandy and everyone."

"How long will your father be gone?"

"Until he's tripled his wallet," I said. "So he told me, one time. Never before. But I'm accustomed to his absence."

Char tightened his lips. He gave the manor a disapproving look.

"I'd like to settle back in," I said. "I shall see you tomorrow. Come over as early as you like. Mandy and I will bake you scones."

"I couldn't let you cook for me," he said, but he looked cheered by the prospect.

"There's no 'letting' involved," I said. "I shall bake scones, and whether you eat one or not will be entirely your decision." I hugged him, and we kissed. "I love you," I said. "And it feels glorious to say it."

"I love you, too," said Char. "Always." He pried himself away with a monumental effort and said, "Until tomorrow, then, Ella."

"Until tomorrow, Char."

He climbed into the carriage and pulled away. I ached, by instinct, to see him go. Mandy caught my look and touched my arm.

"Don't fret, sweet," she said. "There's no reason to, anymore. You'll see him in the morning. And the morning after that. And every morning forever."

I smiled.

"Now," said Mandly brusquely. "It's far too late for young ladies to be up and about. Let's get you to bed. When you awaken, your mother's things will be in their proper places, and your love will be here to greet you."

It was a wonderfully pleasant thought.


	2. Cecilia of Approval

Char came by early, as he'd promised. Mandy and I were busy with our baking when Bertha, flushed pink and curtsying, showed him in. She lingered until Mandy suggested pointedly that the laundry wouldn't wash itself, and Bertha hurried away, barely containing a fit of giggles.

She wasn't the only one. Over the course of half an hour, I watched every member of the household parade past the kitchen door, some more discreet than others in their ogling. Nancy sauntered by three times, waggling her eyebrows at me and grinning like a fool. If Char noticed, he ignored it, and I concentrated on my baking.

Mandy, for her part, was more composed than the others. When Char offered to help shape the scones, she made no remark about sullying his royal hands—only pulled him in and set him to work. She even peered over his shoulder, criticizing his first effort as too small and thin and making him start over. "The butter's got to stay cold," she told him. "You're handling it too much. It'll melt."

She coached him mercilessly through three failed attempts, until she deemed it beyond repair and made him move on to the next one. I marveled at her audacity in bossing around a prince, even if he was mine.

Char was good-natured as always, and despite what Mandy said, he caught on quickly. His second scone, though not perfect, was a vast improvement over the first. I told him so, and he glowed.

"You'll have to excuse Mandy," I told him when she stepped into the pantry. "She's gotten so used to ordering me about, I think she's finding it difficult to break the habit."

He managed a grand total of three scones. He had flour on his hands and doublet, and when he rubbed his brow, he left a streak of white across his hair. I wiped it off.

"They look nothing like yours," he said when we pulled the trays from the oven. It was true—they were lumpier and not as round than the rest—but I was exuberant in my praise, and they tasted just as good, anyway.

After proclaiming our recipe to be the best he'd ever sampled, Char suggested a trip to the pastures, and I was thrilled to accept, despite the December chill. It had been so long since I'd seen Apple. We piled a basket with fruit, wrapped ourselves in furs, and made the short walk to the castle together.

"I just thought of something," said Char as we walked. "That's one more good thing about getting married. We won't have to worry about setting Apple up at your manor. You'll be living in the castle—you can see him any time you like!"

I nodded. Anything to do with Char was a pleasant topic, but with the warmth that spread in me when he talked about our marriage came an odd shiver of uncertainty. I knew I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with him, but now that it was to be a reality, I found the thought of joining the royal family a bit dizzying. What would it be like? Would I have to be dignified at all times? What royal duties would be appointed to me? Would they make me a princess? I hadn't given it much thought. I supposed I would find out soon enough.

"I can't wait for you to meet Cecilia," Char was saying. "You two will get along beautifully. You're so alike. And Mother and Father were in raptures over you. Although—" he grinned— "they wonder what you look like."

I was so startled I nearly dropped the basket of apples. "Oh, I'd forgotten! It was so disrespectful of me, wearing a mask before them." I felt my face growing hot. What they must think of me!

But Char only laughed. "Don't worry. They're not strict about protocol, anyway. I think my father would prefer if everyone did away with the bowing and the curtsying and the _My Liege_ and the _Your Grace_. Goodness knows _I'm_ sick of it, and I don't have it half as bad as he does."

"It was still rude of me."

"You had no choice," Char said solidly. "If your family—your step-family—if they had known you were there, they could have ordered you to leave. I might never have seen you again. No one's going to get upset because you had to disguise yourself to come to a party. If anything, they'll be flattered you went to such pains to see me."

His words were reassuring, but only partially. I would still have to face his parents, and I still found myself dreading the thought. And something he'd said . . . I realized he didn't have the story quite right. He thought I'd only been hiding from Mum Olga—still thought the letter that broke his heart had been from Hattie. However little I cared for her feelings, it wasn't right to leave false blame with her. I'd eventually have to give Char the full explanation. In that moment, though, we'd reached the pasture, and I put the letter from my mind.

Apple cocked his head at the sound of our footsteps, and when he saw who it was, he bounded up to his fence, grinning and wide-eyed, hands reaching for a treat. I laughed. "Remember me, boy?" I offered an apple and petted his flank as he ate it.

"I've had a squire tending him while I was abroad," said Char. "Look what he's learned." He took an apple and extended his free hand. In a commanding voice, he said, "Apple, shake hands."

Apple looked at him blankly.

"Shake hands," said Char. "Shake hands, Apple. Shake hands!"

Apple blinked a couple of times. Then, tentatively, he lifted his own slender brown arm and touched his fingers to Char's. Char grasped his hand tightly and gave it two firm shakes. "Good boy, Apple!" He gave him a treat, which was happily received.

I clapped. "Very good, Apple," I said.

Char grinned. "Apple, clap," he said. He clapped his hands together, once. "Clap your hands."

Apple clapped twice, and I cheered. "You're so clever!"

Char had Apple's attention, now. "I wonder if he remembers this one," he said. "I taught him some time ago, but I never had the chance to show you."

He raised his hand chest-high and brought it in a semi-circle down to his stomach, the shadow of a courteous gesture. "Apple, bow," he said clearly. "Bow to the lady. Bow."

Apple watched him carefully, trying to understand.

"_Bow,_" said Char. "_Bow_ to Ella. Bow." He demonstrated.

Apple tossed his head. He shuffled backward. Then he looked directly at me, spread his arms, and dropped both front legs to dip into a more graceful bow than I would have imagined possible from a quadruped.

I gasped with delight. "That's _wonderful,_" I said. "Char, you did a magnificent job." I gave Apple a treat. "And _you_, of course," I told the centaur.

After a while, we left Apple to explore the menagerie. Many of the animals were shut inside for the winter, but with the prince at my side, I had free rein where others did not. A groundskeeper pulled open the heavy outbuilding door, and we were struck with a heavy burst of warm, animal-scented air.

We stopped by the bird cages, first, per my request. Char demonstrated what Ayorthaian he had learned. Mixed into his phrases were words I didn't recognize and pronunciations I found strange. It occurred to me that what lessons he'd had—at home and abroad—had all taken place in a castle, among nobles. What I'd learned from Areida was probably the equivalent of a commoner's drawl. The thought amused me. I'd have to ask her about it the next time we met.

"You've gotten much better," I told Char.

"My accent's terrible," he said, laughing. "You sound better. That _bird_ sounds better."

"But you've learned more words." In Ayorthaian, I said, _"I like to hear you speak."_

He puzzled over it for a moment, and then he grinned uncertainly and said, _"Thank you. I . . . try many hard . . . to make you pleasant."_

I giggled.

We skipped the ogre huts. "Truthfully, I don't know why we keep them," said Char. "Father says it's good for the people to know what danger is out there. I say, if danger is out there, let it stay there. Ever since that one bewitched you, with the dwarf child—" He stopped as his mind, imbued with new knowledge, worked out what had really happened. "Oh," he said slowly. "He told you to bring the child . . ." He looked at me. "You told me it was something in its eyes."

"I couldn't tell you the truth," I said. "I'm sorry. My mother forbade me from telling anyone about the curse. When I was very small."

Char looked surprised, but the sense of it came to him. "Couldn't someone have undone it? Your cook, Mandy. She could have ordered you to tell me. Or to tell anyone you pleased. For that matter—" He hesitated, unsure whether he should finish his thought.

"You think Mandy could have undone the curse that way," I said. "If she had told me to do whatever I wanted, that could have broken it."

Char looked apologetic. He nodded.

"We tried that, once," I said, "when I was about ten. It was Mother's idea, actually. She told me, 'Don't obey if you don't want, Ella. Do whatever you like.' It worked for a day, until we realized I couldn't take my tonic because I didn't _want_ to. Believe me, we spent a very long time thinking about it. One day, Mother said simply, 'Don't be cursed anymore.' That gave me such a terrible headache she had to countermand it right away. And Mandy doesn't believe in big magic, so she was against trying to 'hoodwink the spell,' as she called it, in the first place. She wanted me to break it on my own.

"Now that everything has worked out fine, I'm glad I did break it on my own. I feel stronger. And I appreciate things more. This morning, Mandy told me to wash my hands before we started baking. And do you know what? I did it. I didn't make her tell me to use soap, or to scrub my hands together, or to wipe them on a towel afterward, or anything I used to make her do. And when she told me to stand up straight, I was slouching—"

"You did it?" he guessed.

"No. I leaned my shoulders down and walked like a hunchback until . . . well, until you came in, actually. And there was nothing she could say to stop me." I grinned. "Char, I can't explain how _good_ it feels to be able to say 'no.' It's as if I've finally come up for air after a lifetime underwater."

Char was watching the ogre cages. "It must have been miserable," he said softly.

"It was."

He put his arm around my waist.

When we'd warmed up a bit, we ventured back outside. The dragon cages were warm enough to endure the weather. We were admiring the new golden-scaled specimen the king had imported from far-off Jindari when Char's eyes landed on something over my shoulder, and he straightened up. I turned to look.

It was Princess Cecilia, and she was headed straight for us.

I straightened next to Char, and when his sister was upon us, I made my best finishing-school curtsy, wobbling only slightly due to nerves.

I had seen her at formal events, but we had never been so close before. The princess could have been Char's twin, they were so alike. She had the same brown curls, though hers were styled into ringlets under her hood. She had his freckles and his broad, enthusiastic grin. She was taller than me, but just slightly, and though I knew she was my age almost exactly, she had a roundness to her face and limbs that made her appear younger. Her cheeks were flushed red, but whether from the cold or from exuberance was impossible to tell. She took me by the hands and beamed at me.

"Is this Ella?" she asked. Her voice was musical—strong, like Areida's, but higher-pitched, and soft and smooth as cream. "It's an honor to finally meet you."

"I'm sure the pleasure is entirely mine, Highness."

"Cecilia," she corrected firmly. "There's to be none of that from you. You're part of the family now." She grinned at Char. "Just try calling Philip 'Your Highness,'" she said. "He'll run screaming from the hall."

"He might, at that," Char agreed.

Cecilia studied my face. "So you were the mystery maiden," she said. "I _told_ Armand you weren't disfigured. He owes me ten KJ's."

They'd been betting on me? I had no response. Char made a face.

"Tactful as always, sister," he said. "You have some business in the menagerie?"

Cecilia finally released my hands. "I've been sent to fetch you," she told her brother. "Aunt Hilde and the lads will be here within the hour."

Char groaned and put a hand to his head. "That's today? Bloody—" He glanced at me, checked himself, and heaved a sigh. "We're hosting a birthday dinner this evening for my beloved aunt," he explained. "I . . ." He looked torn. "Ella, I hope you will not bear me too much ill will for suggesting you skip this particular dinner," he said. "Aunt Hilde is . . . well, she can be . . ."

"Insufferable," offered Cecilia.

"_Distraught_," said Char, giving her a look. "Since the loss of her son."

"More than two years ago," said Cecilia.

"Even so, we cannot begrudge her the sensibilities of motherhood."

"She was insufferable before Marten's death," said Cecilia. "And he was a prick."

Char shut his eyes. "Cecilia, for heaven's sake . . ."

She looked at me, then kicked a toe behind her ankle in an abbreviated curtsy. "Begging the lady's pardon." Char looked mortified. "In any case, Ella, you don't want to meet our family when Aunt Hilde is around. She puts everyone in a foul mood."

"It's up to you, of course," said Char quickly. "You're more than invited."

Meeting Char's parents would be stressful enough. I wasn't sure I was ready for extended families just yet, especially one he clearly didn't get along with. Thankfully, I had an excuse. "It's my first day back home," I said. "Regrettably, Mandy has already claimed me this evening."

"Ah." Char looked relieved. "We'll have you to dinner soon," he promised. "Tomorrow, even. They're not staying, are they?" he asked his sister.

Cecilia tilted her head. "Mother will inevitably invite them to stay the night," she said, "and dear Aunt Hilde will inevitably accept. But they'll be gone by midday. In fact, dinner would be perfect. Father won't have left yet, and after three balls and a birthday dinner, Mother can't possibly have anything else planned. I'll speak with her tonight, but I'm sure she'll consent."

Char grinned at me. "Will you join us for dinner tomorrow? Unless you'd rather stay in your manor," he added.

I shook my head. "I'd love to come. Thank you."

His grin broadened, and Cecilia clapped her hands together. "How exciting! It will be fine to have another lass to talk to."

After such a long time under Mum Olga's thumb, I thought it would be fine to have _anyone_ to talk to. Cecilia was as vivacious as I imagined Char would be if he weren't so burdened with duties, and from her easy conversation, it was safe to assume I'd met with her approval. "I look forward to your company," I said. "And to meeting your brothers."

Cecilia waved a hand dismissively. "They won't be able to get a word in," she said. "I shall keep you all to myself. Come, brother. Time to make yourself presentable."

He looked questioningly at her, and then he noticed the flour on his doublet. He laughed and dusted it off. "I suppose I ought to change before our honored guests arrive," he said. "I'll be right behind you, Cecilia."

Cecilia took the hint. She nodded at me. "Good day, sister."

Sister. She would be my sister. "Good day, Cecilia."

When she'd gone from earshot, Char shook his head. "There's Cecilia," he said. "A bit . . . enthusiastic, at times, but kind to her very center."

"I like her," I said. "You're very similar."

He laughed at that. "I suppose we must be, though I confess I am hard-pressed to see it."

I frowned suddenly as I thought of something. "Does she know about the curse?"

"Ah—no, she doesn't," he said. "I haven't told any of my family. I thought you would prefer to do so yourself."

I nodded. It would couple with the explanation of my subterfuge. I remembered I still had to explain to Char why I'd been hiding from _him_. But in my short silence, he straightened up and looked grudgingly up at the castle. "I suppose I ought to go," he said. "My aunt does not take well to tardiness."

"Duty calls," I said. "Shall I see you tomorrow?"

"I fear I'll be wanted during the day," he said, "but if Mother agrees to dinner, I'll come for you in the evening."

I didn't like to share him, but I supposed it was something I'd have to get used to. I nodded. "Tomorrow evening, then. Enjoy your aunt."

He shook his head. "I shall make a valiant, princely effort," he said, and he sighed. "As I always do."


	3. The Agulen Doors

_Sometimes, I write the worst writing I've ever done, and in a fit of frustration, I stuff it to the darkest corner of My Documents where it stays for a month. And sometimes, when I finally dig it up again, it's not anywhere near the monstrosity I'd built it up to be, and I am able to finish it without totally rewriting the whole thing._

_Ahem. Sorry for the delayed update. The true story is that I am quite out of my depth with this romance thing—I don't write a lot of it, and these first few chapters seem to have been nothing but. I had a lot of trouble with this next chapter, but I am resolving to keep the updates coming, so hopefully you can bear with me through the exposition! The fun stuff starts soon, I promise. For now, more cutesy Chella fluff._

_Thank you so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! I hope you continue to enjoy what I throw at you. :)_

* * *

My household went into raptures when I told them about the next evening's plans. Bertha wanted to sew me a new gown, and when Mandy pointed out that it would be impossible to purchase materials and design and craft one in a single short day, Bertha insisted on altering one of Mother's to make it, as she put it, "more appropriate." She selected a velvety blue thing and locked herself in her sewing room for the rest of the afternoon, calling me in occasionally to take a measurement or pin something against my waist.

"I'll be living there, soon," I said as I helped Mandy make lunch. "What's the point in fussing over a simple dinner?"

"No point," said Mandy, "no point at all. Nancy!" The maid had just walked past the door. Her head and shoulders reappeared. "Run to the market and see if they've any of those bath salts from Jenn, there's a girl. The lavender kind. No—the jasmine. No, the—oh—get both." Nancy nodded and hurried back the way she'd come. "The servants are excited, that's all," said Mandy. "You've never been to a royal banquet before."

"It isn't a banquet," I said. "It's dinner with Char's family. It just happens that his family includes the king and queen."

"Yes, yes, precisely, love," said Mandy. She frowned at my hair, windswept from the walk, and took an end between her floured fingers. "I wonder if you could use a trim. Short hair is becoming the fashion, nowadays."

"I like my hair," I said firmly.

After lunch, I spent a pleasant afternoon walking the halls of the manor, reminding myself of its nooks and crannies. It was all familiar, yet there was a distance to it I hadn't expected. My own room felt different to me. The pattern on my bedspread looked faded. My dolls in their basket seemed childish. Had I grown so much in a single year?

I ran a hand along the dresser. Everything had been dusty when I awoke that morning, but Nancy must have been in, for the dresser was spotless, and the window was open to relieve the musty smell of an unused house. The air was frigid and smelled like the outdoors. Not like my room.

I leaned on the windowsill as I had done a thousand times and looked out over our grounds. The grass was stiff with frost, the trees and shrubs all barren, the pond frozen over. It would be lovely in the spring, but now, devoid of birds and wildlife, it seemed hard and lonely.

I shut the window and went to my bed, where I received a pleasant surprise. On the floor before my night stand was the fairy rug Mandy and I had hidden from Father all those months ago. We'd rolled it carefully under a loose floorboard in a broom closet. I'd nearly forgotten about it, but Mandy or Nancy must have recovered it while I was out.

I knelt beside it and fingered the tassels as I studied the design. After a few still moments, the images came to life, and I smiled, watching the little hunt. I wondered what would happen to it when I moved to the castle. Would it come with me, or would it stay here with . . . ?

I started. Stay here with whom, exactly? What would happen to the manor? Did Father intend to keep it? I didn't blame him wanting to keep his distance from Mum Olga, but then, he had his travels to achieve that. What use could he have with a second home? Surely he would see only its monetary value and sell it, as soon as I was gone, to the highest bidder.

I was surprised by how much the thought pained me, but it did. I thought wildly that I could buy it from Father myself after I married. But I would have even less use than he for a second home.

I heard Bertha calling me to take another measurement. I shook my head. Whatever happened to the manor, it was in the future. I had the present to enjoy it, and I would find a way to handle whatever might come next.

Dinner with Mandy was one of the best I could remember ever having. She wouldn't let me lift a finger to help, so I told her stories and watched as she wove her spell of smells and flavors. She served five courses of all my favorite ingredients, ending with an impossibly delicate custard and rich Ayorthaian coffee. She even procured a dusty bottle of dessert wine, at which I raised my eyebrows.

"Seems your father has his hiding places, too," she said, grinning as she poured.

Bertha made me try on the gown first thing in the morning. I thought it looked magnificent, but she took it hastily back to rework the bodice. Free of her pins for a while, I spent much of the day with Apple. It began to snow early in the afternoon, and it was amusing to watch him bat in puzzlement at the white flakes that floated around him.

When I returned, there was a message from Char. He would send a carriage for me at seven o'clock. I found myself feeling suddenly nervous as the evening drew close. I was having dinner at the castle. With the royal family. Alone. My finishing school training would finally be put to the test. As Mandy and I made shortbread, I tried to recall my lessons about silverware, how to walk, even how to converse. It had been so long, I knew there were many rules I'd forgotten, and without the curse to tug at me when I faltered, I would have no reminder.

Butterflies didn't begin to describe it.

Mandy settled on the jasmine bath salts. After I washed, Bertha brought in the gown. It was perfect, frosty blue and soft as a fawn's coat, and even Bertha seemed satisfied. She tucked my hair into a net of pearls and fastened a small white flower to one side.

"You look lovely," Mandy told me as I turned before the mirror. "A winter princess."

My reflection wrinkled its nose. "Not a princess," I said. I was surprised by the resolve in my voice—I hadn't given it much thought before, but now that it was brought up, I realized that becoming a princess was absolutely the last thing I wanted. It was difficult to say why, but Mandy didn't press the issue.

Nathan appeared at the door. "The prince is downstairs, my lady."

"Wait," said Mandy. She cast about my room, finding what she was looking for on my night stand. She lifted Mother's necklace over my head, smiling at the effect. "I told you you'd grow into it," she said. She kissed me, then shooed me into the corridor.

Char stood alone in the hall, hands clasped behind his back, examining the décor, sparser now than it once had been. He looked up when I emerged at the top of the stairs, and he grinned.

How his smile could set me at ease. I descended the staircase as elegantly as any lady, intending to sweep him an exaggerated curtsy when I reached him. Elegance was easier when it was in jest.

He intercepted me on the bottom step, however. He lifted me easily, spun me once all the way around, and set me down again.

"You look beautiful," he informed me.

"It's an elaborate illusion," I said.

"I doubt that." He nodded to Nathan, who bowed graciously, and smiled at the maids gathered upstairs. Then he offered me his arm. "Shall we?"

* * *

The castle looked the same as it had when I'd last seen it, and yet it looked different. At the balls, every front window had been lined with burning candles, as well as a hundred braziers along the entryway. The whole thing had glowed as if by magic. Now, only the entrance was lit, and only half the braziers, at that. It was subdued, but no less enchanting.

This was where Char lived. Where I would soon be living. My nerves flared up again.

The carriage had pulled away, and Char was watching me expectantly. He held out a hand. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I said, and I took a deep breath to reassure myself. "Only a little nervous."

"You have no reason to be," said Char. "Come."

I took his hand, and he guided me up the palace steps. I had entered a different way at the balls—this must be the main entrance. The door Char brought me through opened into a front hall at least three times the size of Dame Olga's. A magnificent chandelier hung from a high-arching ceiling, and candelabras sparkled along the walls. A plush carpet covered the smooth marble floor, and a broad staircase with gilt banisters led to the second story, splitting to the left and right toward the top.

Servants and courtiers passed through, glancing at me curiously, but leaving the prince to his business. I thought of my own nosy staff and wondered whether their gawking yesterday had made him uncomfortable.

We were greeted by a manservant standing just inside the door. Perhaps he hadn't moved since Char left to fetch me. He bowed. "Highness," he said. "Welcome home."

"Brandon, this is Lady Ella," said Char.

Brandon bowed to me, and I curtsied. "You are welcome, my lady." As he took my shawl, he said, "The king and queen are in the Garnet Parlor. Shall I announce you?"

"Tell them we'll be in shortly," said Char. "I want to show Ella around, first."

"As you wish."

Of course I'd known the castle to be enormous, but the knowledge did little to sway the mounting sense of grandeur I felt as we traversed its endless corridors. Char didn't bring me everywhere—if he had, we might never have made it to dinner. He showed me the banquet hall, where they could entertain a hundred guests at a time, and the much smaller, private dining room, where we would be eating. It was abustle with servants lighting candles and laying out silver and crystal on a single long table.

We visited the throne room, vast and empty now that the day's business was concluded. We peeked into the council chamber, three studies where the young princes had their lessons, and two drawing rooms Char introduced as the "Emerald Room" and the "Ivory Room," for reasons apparent from the furnishings. He wanted to show me the armory and the knights' barracks, the kitchens, the dungeons, the courtyards, and the West Tower, but when he glanced at the ornate clock on the mantel in the Ivory Room, he acceded with a sigh that we would have time for all that later. He wanted to meet his parents before we convened for dinner, and there was one room in particular he wanted to show me. He wouldn't say what it was.

As we walked, we were met by the occasional castle-goer. Everyone nodded, bowed, or curtsied as we passed. I started by curtsying to everyone in response, but Char merely nodded, if he reacted at all. I followed his lead but was hesitant to do away with acknowledgements altogether, settling on a deep nod.

"Are there always so many people around?" I asked.

He looked surprised by my question. Then he grinned. "More, usually," he said. "During the day, at least."

"Do they all live in the castle?"

"The knights live in the barracks with the squires and pages," he said. "Most of the advisers live in their own manors, but Sir Edmund and Sir Albert have suites in the East Wing, with their families. They all have free roam of the castle, more or less, except our private rooms, of course. The rest of the advisers are around during the day, as well as the tutors, and you'll see more of the squires and pages, as well. The first level is open to anyone, really, until sunset. Usually nobles or foreign emissaries with some request or another."

I absorbed this. "It must be overwhelming."

"Sometimes," he agreed. "Hearing petitions isn't so bad—at least you can deal with one at a time. The advisers are worse. They're persistent. Sir Algernon can track you down from across the castle, and they come to you with _everything_, no matter how insignificant." He stopped himself and looked suddenly around, as if expecting a chiding council member to poke his head out from a doorway. Then he smiled sheepishly. "Forgive me. They are hardworking men doing what their job requires of them. They have it no easier than I."

We stopped at a tall, slender double door. I didn't tell Char, loath to ruin the surprise, but I knew where we were. It was the library. Father told me once that the doors to the royal library had been specially carved by a company of elves with Agulen at their head. They were easily the most priceless of his works.

I knew the doors instantly. Long slabs of heavy oak carved with mythical creatures and storybook characters. Char made to open them, but I stopped him so I could study the woodwork.

Here were Hansel and Gretel, dropping breadcrumbs in the undergrowth behind them. Elsewhere in their carved forest, a hunter crouched with his ax, spying on a small hut. I could see the face of Red Riding Hood's wolf in impeccable detail through the tiny window. The forest floor fell away, and there were mermaids splashing in a sea inhabited by narwhals and lithe water snakes. Snow White and Sleeping Beauty lay head-to-head at the door handles, their eyes closed in eternal slumber. Above them, dragons, phoenixes, griffins, and harpies soared through the air, some with riders, some pulling magic carriages.

I could barely see to the top of the doors, but at one hinge, I saw a tower window with a head peeking out, and Rapunzel's long hair spilling along the full length of the door to pool in a small pile at the floor. Along the other door, Jack climbed an equally tall beanstalk, from his house on a hill all the way up to the clouds. I marveled that wooden clouds could seem so airy and delicate, but in true Agulen fashion, they looked as though a breath would blow them away.

The stories weren't all familiar. I could have stood there for a day, picking out the characters I knew and meeting the ones I didn't.

Char was kneeling by the great sea. "This was always my favorite," he said. He pointed at a ship on the water. "Pirates," he said. "A full crew. You can count at least fifty men. I used to sit and stare at it until it seemed to come to life."

I thought of Agulen's wolf sculpture, and I understood what he meant.

"It's beautiful," I said.

Char got to his feet. "The true treasure is inside."

He took hold of Sleeping Beauty's forearm, one of the handles, and pushed open the door. It took him some effort, and the old hinges sighed with strain as they yielded to him.

Light spilled out into the dimly lit corridor. Some servant must have been apprised of the plan, because the room was full of lit candles and devoid of people. I gave little attention to the candles, however.

The library occupied a tower—the broad South Tower, I would come to learn. Two stories high the room stretched, and on up past the rafters and into the slope of the pointed, far-off ceiling.

And—oh, the books! If a free spot existed, I was hard-pressed to find it. Every kind of book packed endless shelves so tightly they were like to burst. Story books, history books, books of strategy, books in every language, encyclopedias, dictionaries. There were books I knew by heart and books I'd never seen before. Books gleaming in perfect gilt bindings, and books whose titles had faded from cracked leather covers. They were in every size, shape, and color, and they followed the walls forever upward.

A stair wound halfway around the tower, gentle and gradual, leading to a second-tier catwalk and a door back to the castle.

A massive window claimed the south side of the wall. I had difficulty making out the design by candlelight, but I could tell the colors, pale green, lilac, and gold. I imagined the room would be magnificent in the early morning.

The best part was the centerpiece. A low marble wall circled a plot of lush grass, into which were dug the mighty roots of a very tall, very alive corkscrew tree. Its smooth, pale bark wound upward and split into branches far above my head, spreading a flat canopy of round green leaves. Pillows and soft chairs gathered in the grass around its base. I could easily lose myself here for the lifetime it would take to read all those books.

I noticed Char watching me, eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Do you like it?"

How could I not? "It's wonderful," I said. I could find no further words to describe my feeling, so I added, "It's truly . . . truly wonderful."

I was overwhelmed with the urge to stay and explore the treasure trove, but too soon, Char was pulling me away. Dinner was to be served promptly at eight. We had ten minutes to meet the king and queen.

I resolved to return at my first opportunity to study its contents. I wanted to find all my favorite stories, and after that, to discover new ones. Reading in Elfian or Gnomic would help me study the languages, as well, and I longed to be as well-versed in every language as I was in Ayorthaian.

We came to a parlor, and the attending squire slipped inside to announce us. Char sent me a reassuring smile and squeezed my hand—and I remembered suddenly that I _still_ hadn't told him about the letter.

It was a small confession, really. It pained me whenever I thought how much hurt it must have caused him, but he knew about the curse—my explanation would be simple. I felt certain he would forgive me.

Still, I wanted to tell him—while were alone. Hattie was a conniving, jealous narcissist, but as long as Char thought she'd written that letter, I thought he would have a rather more harsh impression of her than was strictly fair. As I had told him the other day, I didn't know what I wanted done with my step-family—it would be enough if I never had to see them again.

But I didn't know how much of that was truly my decision. Suppose Char wanted to have them tried? There was no evidence of any crime they might have committed—except the letter in Hattie's name. If anything they'd done had been against the law, intentionally deceiving the crown prince had to be at the top of the list. And while Char might respect my wish against having Hattie detained, would the king and queen feel the same way, if they found out?

I'd have to explain before Char gave his parents a false account. I wished fervently that I had done so already. The letter had of course followed from Char's initial proposal to me. He'd never told his father about it, and so I had no desire to bring it up before him. It was probably safe to assume Char wouldn't mention it, either, but he still might express that Hattie had done something to grievously injure him. It would be best to clear the air as soon as I possibly could. I should have done so already.

The door to the parlor swung open again, and the squire, beaming, bowed us inside. I gripped Char's arm with both hands—perhaps a little too tightly—and did my best to still my nerves as we entered the Garnet Parlor.


	4. Armand and Dangerous

_Hi, readers! Here's your latest installment. Part of this chapter involves foreign languages, and after struggling with how best to represent it, I decided to post the translations at the end of the chapter. The translation is not imperative to the story, however, so I recommend you read through that part first without cheating, and then check the translation at the end._

_Thanks so much for the kind reviews and new subscriptions! In three chapters, this is already my longest story by word count (this fourth chapter will make it twice as long as my previous forerunner), and I'm not out of ideas yet. :) I really appreciate everyone's support. Keep reading!_

* * *

It had never occurred to me to wonder what royalty got up to in its spare time, and I had never seen the king and queen outside of a formal setting. I had only one picture of them in my mind. I expected to see them stiffly seated in high-backed chairs at the end of the room, hands folded neat, resplendent and austere as they had always appeared.

When we entered the room, however, the king and queen weren't there at all—only a man and woman, each cradling a goblet of wine. The man sat on the edge of a plush red loveseat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his head tilted sideways, talking to the woman in a low, deep voice. She was coiled on a chaise lounge, legs hidden beneath her skirts, laughing at something he'd just said with an expression of wry amusement. They were simply dressed, though the clothes were fine: a dark sleeveless doublet over a cream blouse for the man, and a sleek gown of dusty violet for the woman.

They paused to look at us. The man's face broke into a grin, and I saw that it belonged unmistakably to Char. If not for that smile, I might never have recognized them. They seemed smaller, somehow, and decidedly more human, without their crowns and robes.

"Mother, Father," said Char. "This is Ella."

I swept a deep curtsy. Queen Daria reached us first. She took hold of my arms and smiled indulgently. "My dear," she said. "Ella. Ah, you are the spitting image of your mother." Her voice was all earnestness and warmth. It was a gentle voice, but I sensed strength behind it, like a stone wrapped in softest velvet. She pulled me close, engulfing me in the scent of wildflowers and honey.

When we parted, King Jerrold stood beside her. He took my hand in both of his. They were callused, broad and powerful. "Welcome, Ella," he said, and he made a half-bow over my hand. I nearly quaked to be bowed to by a king.

However little I wanted to broach the topic, I couldn't let them go on wondering about my behavior at the ball. I was sure they'd be too polite to ask, and so I spoke immediately.

"I must apologize for our last meeting," I said. "I was insufferably rude. I wore a mask before you, and I gave you a false name. It was imperative that I not be recognized. I beg your forgiveness."

The queen looked at me quizzically. "From whom were you hiding?"

Char was beside me again, and his arm went to my waist. "Her sisters," he said. "And her step-mother, Dame Olga. When they saw it was her, they chased her from the ball, and if they'd recognized her sooner, I feel certain they'd have forbidden her to return. Their reasons, as I gather, were spun from pure jealousy."

I recognized some of Char's vindictive anger in King Jerrold's eyes when he heard this, but his temperament was cooler than his son's. He said nothing.

Char's account was true, so far. I _had_ been hiding from my step-family, if not exclusively. I started to talk again before he could elaborate.

"Your Majesties," I said, "since my father's remarriage, I've been living with my step-family. It's been . . ." I searched for the right word. "Difficult. They were able to take advantage of me for reasons which—if it please you—I will explain over dinner. It is fair to say they have mistreated me, and I think Char would like nothing better than to have them shut away for life."

Char still held me, and I felt him stiffen, but he didn't interrupt.

"I believe such a thing would cause my father terrible grief," I said. "They will cause me no further distress, and I have no desire for vengeance." That was the truth of it. I was glad enough to be rid of the curse—the sooner I could stop thinking about it altogether, the sooner I could begin my life without it. Holding my step-family in a dungeon would serve as a constant reminder of my servitude. I would be freer if I could forgive and forget.

I knew Char disapproved, but he would respect my decision. The king and queen smiled. "Whatever your situation," said the queen, "I am sure your feelings are the only ones that can guide a decision. No action will be taken regarding your family unless you wish it done."

She understood. I smiled gratefully.

The door opened behind us, and the squire bowed quickly. "Her highness—"

In bounced Cecilia, radiating energy. "Hello, Ella!" she said, and she linked arms with me. "Shall we head to dinner?"

It was a couple minutes to eight, so we obliged. Cecilia led the way through the twisting corridors. Char had just shown me the dining room, and I'd already forgotten where it was. In any case, Cecilia took us by a different route. The castle's interior layout seemed to be more or less circular. I wondered how long it would take me to memorize its passageways, or whether it could even be done.

There were two lads already seated at the dining table, and they rose when we entered. Char introduced me. "Ella, my brothers, Philip and Armand."

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," I said.

Philip, the elder of the two, looked like a shorter, more solid version of Char. His hair was lighter and trimmed short, and his face was free of freckles, but they shared the same eyes, nose, and easy smile. "The pleasure is ours, my lady," he said. His voice was deeper than I'd expected. I knew him to be around fourteen, but the voice made him seem older.

Armand said nothing—only stared at me with wide, dark eyes. I knew he was younger than Philip, but I'd thought the difference was only a few years. Armand looked very young, indeed. Perhaps eight or nine. His curls were darker than his siblings' hair—nearly black, like his mother's, and very fine. His freckles stood out against pale skin, and he was short and slight of frame. His stare wasn't empty like Olive's. I could tell he was studying me, curious. His countenance had something intelligent about it. Perhaps his shyness would fade over dinner—I hoped to hear him in conversation.

When it was just Char among me and his knights, he had sat first and had his pick of everything before us. As the only commoner among royalty, I was lost for the decorum. Armand and Philip sat, first, and I was prepared to wait for the rest of them—but Char pulled back a seat for me, so I took it. He sat beside me, and on his left was King Jerrold at the head of the table. Along the other side were the queen, then Philip, then Armand. Cecilia sat to my right. I wondered whether they took the same seats at every meal. Would this be my permanent assignment?

The first course appeared immediately. Seven servants placed a small bowl of soup at each place setting. I took the tiny portion as a good sign—it signaled a variety of courses, and I was eager to try everything Char's cook had to offer.

A short woman in an apron stood beside King Jerrold's chair. Her sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, and her hands were dusty with flour. She had to be the royal cook. I marveled at her appearance. Where Mandy seemed in a permanent state of disarray, stains all over her dress and frizzy hair flying everywhere, this woman's flushed cheeks were the only indicator that she had been hard at work moments before. Her hair was tucked neatly into a bright blue scarf, an easy smile played on her lips, and even her apron was spotless. She was entirely composed.

The cook gestured at the table. "Leek-and-dwarfish-truffle soup," she said, "with _piment d'espelette_ imported this morning from Bast." She gave me a surreptitious wink, and I realized with a jolt that she must have heard about Lela.

"Thank you, Rachel," said the king.

Rachel bowed and followed her servants out of the room. One young girl remained, circling the table and filling glittering crystal goblets with clear white wine. King Jerrold lifted his glass, and we followed suit.

"To Lady Ella," he said, his powerful voice resonating through the long room, "the newest addition to our family."

There was a short chorus of _hear-hears_, and Char beamed at me. I loved to see him so happy.

Rachel's soup was beyond belief. Mandy always said the delicate leek was a perfect preamble to any meal, and this was no exception. The leeks were buttery and smooth, and the truffles added an earthy flavor that complimented them well. The imported pepper was a nice touch, too, lending a smokiness and a slow spiciness that was not overbearing. The real miracle was the texture. Despite flavors that tended toward the heavy side, Rachel's soup was thin and light as air—a feat to be applauded. It lingered on my tongue, but not in my stomach.

"What do you think?" asked Char. "As good as your Mandy's?"

"It's no wonder our cooks are friends," I said. "They have the same taste. This is wonderful. I think Mandy should like to know the recipe."

King Jerrold laughed. "You'll be hard-pressed to get such a thing from Rachel," he said. "She guards her kitchen like a fortress."

"Char told us you help the cook at your manor," said Cecilia. "We're all terribly jealous. Rachel won't let any of us near her while she's working."

I started at this. Would I be forbidden from the kitchen when I came to live here?

As though reading my mind, Char said, "That's because you don't _help_, Cecilia. You poke around and get underfoot looking for free samples. Ella would be an extra pair of hands—and a talented pair, at that."

I noticed Armand's eyes on me from across the table. His stare hadn't wavered since we'd sat down. Now, in a low voice, he said, "You cook in your own kitchen?"

"All the time," I said, hoping to encourage his conversation. "Mandy is one of my best friends. We'll cook for you when she gets here. Her rabbit stew is—"

"Aren't you in the peerage?" said Armand.

I blinked. "We're not, actually," I said.

"You know Ella's father," said Cecilia. "Sir Peter of Frell."

Armand paused. "The merchant?" His eyes shot from me to Char, then along the table to his parents, and then back to me. I wondered what he was thinking. Of course they'd met Father before. Did they know him as the charming, courteous gentleman Mother had fallen in love with? Or had they gotten to know him a bit better?

"It doesn't matter who her father is," said Char, fairly answering my unposed question. "Ella is herself. Just Ella."

"Mama," said Cecilia suddenly, leaning her elbows on the table, "do you remember what you told Char before the balls began?" She turned to me. "My mother and father have been anxious for him to take a wife," she explained. "They didn't want to arrange a marriage for him, and so on the night before the first ball, Mama told him . . ." Cecilia straightened in her chair and switched her voice into a timbre that was comically prim and much too high: _"'Marry a scullery maid, for all we care, but marry someone you can love.'_ Those were her exact words, on my life, and if Char's story is to be believed, that is exactly what has transpired!"

With the exception of Armand, who looked like he'd missed the joke, the table erupted in laughter. It was the same kind of laugh Char had—they weren't laughing at me, but at the humor of the situation, and I found myself laughing, too.

"I told you," said Char. "They had her dressed up like a cinder-girl, but next to her horrid step-family, she was still the most beautiful one in the room."

"The prince shall inspire envy in kingdoms around," I said, "to have a wife so well-trained in the art of fire-making."

Cecilia added, "He shall never lack for warmth, though not for the reasons most would suspect!"

"Cecilia!" gasped the queen, but the others laughed so hard I could hear the ringing in the chandelier and the far corners of the hall. I found myself overcome with relief as I laughed along with them. It had never occurred to me that Char's family might share his sense of humor, but now that it had manifested before me, I wondered at my oversight. Where else would he have gotten it from?

"Ella," said Philip across the table. "Did you truly fight off a whole hoard of ogres?"

"Char said she _tamed_ them, Philip," said Cecilia. "She didn't fight them."

"Only because she didn't have to," said Char. "I don't doubt she _could_ have fought them, if she so pleased."

"That seems improbable," said Armand.

"Then you _tamed_ them," said Cecilia. Her eyes were sharp and lively, and they shone bright. "Is it true, Ella? Or has our brother been telling us tales? Are you really so grand as he proclaims?"

"I wouldn't say it was a _hoard_," I said. "There were . . ." I looked to Char. "Eight or nine, perhaps?"

There was a gasp around the table. _"Nine?"_ breathed Cecilia. "Surely you're jesting!"

"She isn't," insisted Char.

"And they all did what you said?" asked Philip.

"One actually _held out its hands_ for me to bind," said Char. "Not that we needed to bind them, at all. They'd have gone wherever she told them to."

The king said, "I've heard this tale, as well." He did not speak loudly, and yet his voice seemed to make all other sound take pause. It rumbled comfortably along the table, clear as day despite the low volume. "How did you manage it?"

"I persuaded them," I said. "The honeyed way they have of speaking—I imitated it. I didn't know whether it would work."

"That must have been terribly frightening," said Daria. "How is it you happened across them?"

"I was traveling," I said. "From finishing school, to meet my father." They didn't need to know I'd run away.

She tilted her head. "Ah, the school in Jenn? I was a pupil there when I was a girl. What do they teach the young ladies nowadays?"

"Oh, all sorts of terribly important things," I said. "Things I'd never known were essential to my survival until I was enlightened by Manners Mistress and the others."

"Like what?" asked Philip.

I raised my fork. "Like the sin it is to use, say, a salad fork when eating fish. I remember asking Manners Mistress why we had to have four separate forks over the course of a meal. She was too distressed to speak."

"I've always wondered that, myself," said the king.

"Oh, the art of cutlery is extensive, indeed," I said. "You could fill a library with literature on the proper ways to hold a fork."

Jerrold raised his eyebrows. "The proper ways to _hold_ it?"

Beside him, Daria laughed. "Oh, dear, are they still teaching that nonsense? I haven't gripped a fork the proper way since I was eighteen. Let's see . . ." She held up her own fork and arranged her fingers along the handle. "Salad fork . . ." She changed her grip. "Fish fork . . . and meat fork. Was that right?"

"You forgot the dessert fork," I said, demonstrating.

"Of course, the delicate dessert fork!" laughed Daria. "Which is gripped in an entirely different fashion than the dessert _spoon_, make no mistake!"

I shared in her laughter while the rest of the table cast bewildered looks at one another. I wondered what Manners Mistress would say if she were here. She'd probably have a conniption.

"Finishing school," said Cecilia, and I heard the distaste in her voice. "I think I'd refuse to go."

"So would I," I said. "Regrettably, that wasn't an alternative in my situation."

"You hold your father in high regard," said Cecilia.

"No more than is customary," I said, which was the truth, if an understatement. "But that's not what I mean."

Char glanced at me, and I nodded to reassure him. "I have something to tell you," I told the table. "When I was an infant, I was visited by a fairy by the name of Lucinda."

I waited for a reaction, but they appeared not to have heard of her. She must have been smart enough to keep away from the royal family.

"Lucinda liked to give gifts," I said. "Her gift for me was obedience. All my life, I've been cursed to obey any command I was given, no matter what or by whom."

Philip's eyes were wide, and Daria said, "Oh, my dear."

"Any order?" said Armand. "Suppose I told you to pinch yourself?"

"It's been broken," I said, and Char's hand went to the small of my back. "Char helped me break it."

"This is the advantage your step-family held over you?" said Jerrold.

"It is," I said, "and perhaps you think them even more despicable, knowing the truth of it. But my decision stands, if it please you. I would like my father's opinion before anything is done."

Philip made an indignant noise. "I'd lock them away, if it were me," he said. "Char told us what they did to you. I'd turn _them_ into servants for a while. Have your fairy make _them_ obedient. See how they like it."

I couldn't help but feel touched by his leap to my defense. "The fairy has seen the error of her ways and renounced—as the fairies call it—big magic. She shan't be cursing anyone again."

"Still," said Philip. "Something should be done."

"The decision is Ella's," said Daria beside him. "We will respect her wishes, whatever they may be."

Philip didn't look convinced, but he let the matter rest.

Our empty soup bowls had been replaced almost without my noticing, and Rachel stood again at the head of the table. "Drowned sardine," she announced simply, and she left the room.

I was surprised that she didn't elaborate further, and with my first bite, I wished fervently that she had. The fish dripped in a tangy-sweet marinade, perhaps based in wine or some spirit. I could see the small, red rings of sliced pepper, but while their mild spiciness warmed the dish, I couldn't pick out their flavor. There was something else in the sauce—citrus? Oranges, perhaps? It was like nothing I'd tasted before, and I became so enthralled with trying to dissect the recipe that I lost track of the conversation until Cecilia nudged me with an elbow.

"Mama was asking about your gift with tongues," she said.

"There's a trait you have in common with Armand," said Daria.

I looked at her. "I've never really studied," I said. "I like languages, but it's only a hobby."

"She's being modest," said Char. "Her Ayorthaian far outstrips mine, and she speaks Elfian, Gnommic . . ."

"_Ubensu iniki,_" said Armand. "_Aba offouro echane ishirini ubensu._"

I looked at him, pleasantly surprised. His accent was superb. The rest of the family clearly understood him—of course, they would all be well-versed in the language of our closest ally. Armand had called me pretty and said Char was lucky to have me.

"_Aramma,_" I said. "_Ubensu ockommo ammasa. Utyu ubensu—_"

"_Kummeck ims powd. Aff ench poel?_"

He interrupted in Elfian. I had to think for half a second, but I recovered quickly. "_Ella hux Frell. Aff ench poel?_"

"_Dok ench pess garkummeck Armand, jort hux pess gorgokummeck ims faddo ol poroni sta toronos hux Kyrria,_" he said. "_Ji-juje x't-elije ximx aoujo ourj fixii aouxea?_"

His reply was so deft, almost lazy, that it took me a moment to realize he had transitioned seamlessly into Jindar. Still in an Elfian mindset, I missed all but a few words—Jindar could sound like so much _shushing_ to the inattentive ear. I glanced around the table for help, but I was met with expressions of transfixed wonderment. They were even more lost than I.

"Ah, _x'n-abaja-xat douxo, ou-x't-jamaje?_" I said.

I'd asked him to repeat himself. Instead, Armand replied, "_frah SSyng FFnOO myfOOn oyjo fezOOn hijyNN._"

That stopped me. I blinked twice, dumbfounded. I must have misheard him. "Pardon?" I said in Kyrrian.

He smiled. "_frah SSyng,_" he said clearly, "_FFnOO myfOOn oyjo fezOOn hijyNN._" He gestured at the food-laden table to illustrate.

Beside me, Cecilia caught my expression. "What?" she said, and she shot a suspicious look at Armand. "What did he say?"

My Ogrese was good. The phrase was characteristically despicable in Ogrese, but its translation was hardly more pleasant: it meant, essentially, "You are not welcome here."

Armand was watching me for my response. I turned to Cecilia and smiled reassuringly. "He said, 'You are very welcome here.'"

"No, I didn't," said Armand.

All eyes went to him, and my heart skipped a beat. Did he truly want me to reveal what he'd said? I could only stare at him with uncomprehending eyes.

"I asked her how she liked the food," said Armand.

Perhaps he had mistranslated. I tried to relax. But then I met his gaze. He was staring at me, his dark eyes appearing almost black, and he smiled—a private, triumphant smile—and I knew he had not misspoken. I was not welcome. Prince Armand had told me—in Ogrese, no less—that he did not want me here.

I gathered my wits. "Oh," I said. "Of course. _SSyng psySSahbuSS._ Most Ogrese phrases have to do with food. I confused it with a different phrase."

"That is an amazing gift you have," said Jerrold. "Did I hear Jindar? I know no more than a few select, decidedly diplomatic phrases." He laughed. The mood of the table remained light. No one suspected what Armand had told me. I tried to quell my shaken nerves.

"Ella speaks better than Sir Gregory," said Cecilia. "I don't doubt she could have taught me twice the Elfian he did in half the time."

The queen leaned forward. "As it happens, Sir Gregory has been talking about stepping down," she said. "He is getting on in years. It may be time we offered him a manse in the country. If we have found a replacement, that is." She beamed at me, and I realized what she wanted.

"Mother," said Char, and he sounded affronted. "Ella is not a _staff member_."

"Oh, I don't mean to suggest that, Char," said the queen. "Sir Gregory is far more than a tutor. His official position is that of Court Linguist. He sits in on council meetings when an ambassador is present, and he has been working on Kyrrian translations for our collection of foreign texts. Still, he barely speaks Jindar, and I'm certain he knows no Ogrese."

"Court Linguist?" I said. I had wondered what responsibilities I would incur as part of the royal family. It seemed I now had my answer.

"You don't have to," said Char quickly. "You can think about it for a while."

"No," I said. "I accept. I'd love to." It was an indescribably better title than _Princess_. A linguist was a scholar, and I grinned to think of all the foreign books I'd have access to. My only hesitation was in regard to tutoring. I wondered how difficult Armand would be. His smirk from across the table had already melted into a cold glower. I would have to think carefully about how best to approach him. Perhaps he was simply wary of me, still a stranger to him. Once we got to know each other, perhaps he'd warm to me.

Perhaps. What a devilish word. It could make a person believe in anything.

I took up my wine and drank.

* * *

_Translations from Ella's conversation with Armand._

**Armand:** _(Ayorthaian)_ You're pretty. My brother is lucky to have found you.

**Ella:** _(Ayorthaian)_ Thank you. You speak very well. Do you like—

**Armand:** _(Elfian)_ Hello. _(lit. "Sun and rain.")_ Who are you?

**Ella:** _(Elfian)_ Ella of Frell. Who are you?

**Armand:** _(Elfian)_ I am the prince Armand, son of the king and fourth in line to the throne of Kyrria. _(Jindar)_ Why does my brother choose you above noble maidens?

**Ella:** _(Jindar)_ Will you say it again, please?

**Armand:** _(Ogrese)_ You're not welcome. _(lit. "You may eat the spoiled discards from our dinner.")_

**Ella:** _(Ogrese)_ The food is delicious.


End file.
